


River From the Sea

by Thistlerose



Category: Chronicles of Prydain - Lloyd Alexander
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Gen, Missing Scene, Not Quite Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:03:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eilonwy says a proper farewell to Caer Colur.  Set between "The Castle of Llyr" and "Taran Wanderer."  Written in 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	River From the Sea

For the first time in as long as she could remember, the Princess Eilonwy was at a loss for words.

"It's not as if I have nothing to say," she complained to Prince Rhun, who sat across the table from her, a book in one hand, a chunk of bread in the other. "I'm full of words. I can feel them wriggling under my skin like caterpillars." She sighed and tapped at the parchment with the feathered end of her quill pen. As yet, the sheet contained exactly two words: _Dear Taran._

"I did say that I wasn't speaking to him," she went on before Rhun, who'd opened his mouth, could say a word. "And I meant it. Assuming I'd… Well, making assumptions about me. Writing letters," she declared with a toss of her red-gold hair, "is not the same as speaking."

She paused for breath then, and Rhun seized the opportunity. Swallowing his bite of bread so quickly that he nearly choked, he said, "You could write to him about the dreams."

"Yes," said Eilonwy slowly, not at all surprised that Rhun had guessed the recipient of her unwritten letter, despite the fact that she hadn't told him. She glanced out the casement window. The sky was cloudless and intensely blue as a robin's egg. Below it, the sea gleamed like a jewel, the dancing foam full of rainbow light. Squinting, she could make out the brightly colored sales of the ships in Mona Haven. She imagined them flicking like leaves in the crisp autumn breeze, and wished she were outside, running barefoot across the sand, kicking up bits of shell and pebbles worn smooth by the surf. She could hear the waves whispering playfully in her head like the voices in her dreams: tempting, beckoning, falling just short of cajoling.

Eilonwy shook herself. "He would worry," she said, not turning from the window. "Sometimes I think he thinks I'm a helpless little girl. Though I suppose being kidnapped and enchanted _does_ give a person the appearance of needing help. But I don't want him to come rushing back here. It's not that I don't want to see him. I'm angry with him – a little, anyway – but that's not the reason. Sea travel doesn't agree with him, and besides… Besides," she continued quietly, her gaze drifting to the ring that sparkled on her finger, "it's autumn, and Coll will need him for the harvest. The apple trees will be full of fruit, and oh, there'll be about a million things for him to do. Do you suppose the leaves have begun to turn yet?"

Rhun would have startled her if he'd answered because by then she had all but forgotten him. Her thoughts had wandered far away, across the water, beyond the spires of castle and forest, to the little farm, nestled in the hills. Even now, Taran might be bringing Hen Wen her supper. She could see his sunburned face, now in the shadow of the trees, now in light, as he strode. The white pig would greet him with a joyful "Hwoinch!" and push her pink nose eagerly between the wooden slats of her enclosure. 

_Do you miss me?_ she wondered. Taran had promised that he would not forget her until they met again, and she believed him; for all his flaws, he was not given to failing people. 

_I am the one I doubt._

She felt lightheaded suddenly, and when she tried to breathe deeply she discovered, to her panic, that she could not. She fumbled with the collar of her dress, but that didn't help; the castle walls seemed to be closing in on her.

"Princess!"

There was the scrape of wood against stone as Rhun pushed his chair back. He was at her side in an instant. "I say, are you—?" He made as if to touch her shoulder, but drew his hand back awkwardly. "Shall I--?"

"I'm quite all right," said Eilonwy breathlessly, straining to focus on his face. "I think I shall lie down now." And she managed not to stumble as she rose and moved away from the table. "Please don't tell the queen."

At that, Rhun grinned. "You can't be too ill if you've still got the sense to not want my mother involved. Come on, then. I'll help you—"

*

Eilonwy slept fitfully for the rest of the afternoon. She woke when one of Queen Teleria's ladies came to fetch her for supper. She said she wasn't hungry, even though she was, and when the lady had gone, she flopped back against her pillows and closed her eyes.

She was able to sleep again, despite her growling stomach. The dreams came to her as she'd half-expected they would.

She was in Caer Colur again, and the Great Hall was full of fire. Flames licked at her dress and hair, and she tried to run away, but she couldn't see for the brightness. Around her, the ancient walls shuddered as great waves crashed against them. _The white horses of Llyr,_ she thought. They were coming for her.

But she didn't belong with them, or in this collapsing castle. She had sacrificed her magical heritage for the sake of her friends, and now she had to find her way to them.

"Taran!" she called helplessly as she stumbled. "Taran!"

The voice that answered was not Taran's. It began as a whisper, barely audible above the flames, the heaving stones, and Eilonwy's choking as smoke and sparks were flung in her face. It rose steadily, echoing from corner to corner until the entire hall rang with a wordless, insistent muttering.

There was too much noise, too much heat, too much _everything_ in one small space. The walls writhed as if in torment; the flagstones lurched and Eilonwy was thrown off her feet.

*

She woke with a gasp and sat up in bed, her heart pounding. It was very dark. She fumbled in the pocket of her robe, found her bauble, cupped it in her hands, and instantly, warm, gold light filled the chamber. The shadows of chairs and candelabras looked eerily like long-fingered hands, but Eilonwy knew what they were, and her heartbeat began to slow.

She slid out of bed, went to the window, and parted the heavy curtains. The castle's towers were black against the starry sky. Far below, torches sputtered in the courtyard, but there were no other lights. It was very late, then. 

A light, cool breeze fluttered against her cheeks. She leaned into it, grateful for it after the fire in her dreams. She could still hear the voices, very faint now and, it seemed to her, lonely and sad. They did not frighten her because she understood them.

_I made a choice, and I wouldn't take it back, even if I could._

The voices rose questioningly.

_No._ Then, aloud – "No."

But that did not seem to be enough. 

"All right, then."

Eilonwy turned from the window, knelt by her bed, and grasped the sword she kept hidden beneath it. She did not expect any trouble on Mona, but one could not be too safe, she told herself, and anyway, she liked the feel of the cold hilt in her hand. She got a thicker robe from her trunk, slid her feet into soft boots, and, holding her bauble in front of her to light her way, stole from the chamber.

She made hardly any sound as she walked briskly along the corridors and down the staircases. Still, she half-expected Prince Rhun to pop up in front of her, with his accustomed broad grin and his cheerful, "Hullo, hullo!" She was relieved when she arrived at the courtyard unhindered. 

The voices rose hopefully as she made her way across the flagstones. She shook her head. "No, I said."

Taran had told her about the opening in the courtyard wall, through which he had once chased Magg, the treacherous Chief Steward. She found it without much difficulty, pushed aside the ivy concealing it, and squeezed through.

She found herself on a rocky slope overlooking the harbor. It was slippery; reaching the shore would have been easier with both hands free to brace herself, but without her bauble, she would not have been able to see the deep gaps between the rocks, and would probably have fallen and hurt herself. It was slow, labored going, but at last she made it to the water's edge and straightened.

The breeze blew her hair back from her face and brushed her lips with salt. She tilted her head back and looked at the stars. There were so many of them, flung carelessly as sea foam against the black dome. Her enchantress ancestors had known all their names, had known their patterns, and could have made them chime like silver bells with a word and a wish. 

Eilonwy looked to the shore. The tide was low, and the waves were coming in gently. She could barely see them in her bauble's light, curls of darkness against something far darker and vaster. They were impossibly huge, the sea and sky, and as they whispered to each other, they filled Eilonwy with sorrow.

"I can't," she said. "I can't. I'm sorry."

And she was, in a way. By her doing, Caer Colur, her ancestral home – and, for all she knew, her own birthplace – lay in rubble at the bottom of the sea. Fish flitted and barnacles grew where her people had once walked.

She knelt and touched the cold, wet sand. A wave rushed up and covered her hand, but she did not move, and, with a sigh, the water receded. 

"I'm sorry," Eilonwy said. "I wouldn't have chosen any differently. I mean, I couldn't have. My friends were in danger. Even so."

She smiled. "I never really wanted to be an enchantress, anyway. It's not because Achren raised me, and sort of spoiled the idea of enchantresses. I like being able to cast spells. It's quite useful sometimes. But it's not me. Do you understand? Dallben and Queen Teleria think I've got to be a young lady, and while I'm not sure that that's what I want, either – certainly not, if all I'm to do is sit around in a dreary castle, pricking my fingers with embroidery needles. But I suppose I haven't much choice. Still, I made a promise to Taran, that I'd get through this young lady business, and get home just as quickly as I could. And after that…"

She looked wistfully out to see. "I don't know. I'm sorry. Part of me _does_ wish you were still here. But you're not, and I wish you'd stay out of my dreams. In fact, I order you to leave me alone. You can be quiet, now. I didn't choose you, but it's not as if I'm going to forget."

A wave brushed her fingers again and it sent a tingle through her. She shivered, but did not move. Each wave, she imagined, was one of her ancestors, touching her hand in greeting, then bidding her farewell.

She remained until the sky began to lighten and the seagulls screamed overhead. By then, her back ached and her hand was numb. Her bauble began to look pale as tentative rays of light stretched across the sea. 

The voices had stopped. She never heard them again.

06/06/06


End file.
